Chapter 91 Isabelle's dream wedding
Isabelle stepped aside immediately, her face lighting up with a brightness that seemed a little too perfect.
But she wasn’t alone.
Standing behind her was someone Dante never expected to see at that moment.
Both of them were staring at him and Jean-Paul and from the look on their faces.
They were aware of everything.
Dante’s heart dropped to his stomach.
Because the person standing beside Isabelle was someone who could destroy everything with a single word.
Isabelle’s father, Laurent Durant walked in. He's tall, well-dressed, and carrying a smile that looked like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Oh, it’s so nice to finally see my son-in-law walking.”
The world around Dante froze.
Son-in-law? The word hit him like a punch to his stomach.
Laurent walked straight to him, arms open. “My boy,” he exclaimed warmly, pulling Dante into an unexpected embrace. “You scared us. You truly did. I thought we were going to lose you that night.”
Dante remained stiff, barely lifting his arms to return the hug. “Thank you,” he muttered.
Laurent’s voice softened dramatically, as if he were performing on a stage. “And my poor daughter, she was shattered. You should have seen her. She cried and cried. I don’t think she slept for days.”
Dante almost choked. He remembered the days after his accident, the empty hospital room, the long nights, the pain. There was no Isabelle. No messages. No calls.
Just silence. He was alone fighting for his life and her father had the guts to lie about everything.
Isabelle gave him a timid smile, her lashes lowered, pretending to be touched by her father’s words.
A dangerous heat crawled up Dante’s throat, but he said nothing.
Jean-Paul stepped forward, smiling as if everything was unfolding perfectly. “Let’s discuss this in more comfort.”
He led them toward the sitting area near the wide windows. The view of Monaco stretched out behind them, but Dante barely registered it.
He sat on the couch. Isabelle slid right next to him, too close, too eager and clung to his arm like a child afraid someone might steal her toy.
He tried to shift away, but she tightened her grip.
Her perfume felt suffocating.
Laurent took the seat opposite them. Jean-Paul sat beside him, both men relaxed, confident, as if this moment had been rehearsed a hundred times.
Laurent cleared his throat with excitement.
“So, the wedding.”
Dante’s shoulders tensed. His jaw locked.
Laurent continued, smiling warmly. “We’ve already selected a date. It works beautifully for both families.”
Dante blinked. “A date?”
“Yes, yes,” Laurent went on with joy. “And the hall for the reception. One of the best in the country. We’ve booked the event planner, she’s top-tier in London. They’ve already prepared designs.”
Dante pressed both hands on his thighs, his breath catching. “Wait, already?”
Laurent nodded eagerly. “Of course! Everything is set. Even the honeymoon.” He laughed. “Paris in the spring, just as Isabelle dreamed.”
Isabelle nodded quickly and leaned her head on Dante’s shoulder. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, smiling lovingly.
Dante’s chest tightened painfully.
Perfect for her. Not for him. Nothing here considered him.
Laurent kept talking. “She has waited for this day her whole life. The décor, the colors, the venue, it is everything she ever imagined.”
Dante felt his stomach twist.
He felt like he had been shoved into some elaborate dream of Isabelle’s. Except it wasn’t his dream. It wasn’t his life.
And there was something cruel about planning someone’s future without even asking if they wanted it.
He swallowed hard. “Was I going to be told any of this?”
The room went silent.
Isabelle froze, still holding onto him.
Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow, as if Dante’s question were unreasonable.
Laurent laughed awkwardly. “Dante, it is just wedding details. We assumed.”
“You assumed wrong,” Dante cut sharply.
Isabelle tapped his thigh softly, trying to calm him. “Dante, don’t be upset. It’s all”
He moved his leg away, her hand falling into nothing.
She blinked in shock.
He stood up slowly, pacing in front of them. His heart was pounding. His hands were shaking.
“I need to understand something,” he said, turning to face all three of them. “Am I the bride here?”
Laurent frowned, confused. “Excuse me?”
“Because everything,” Dante said, voice rising, “has already been decided. The date, the hall, the planner, the honeymoon. All of it. Based on what Isabelle wants.”
He pointed at her without looking at her. “What she dreamed.”
Isabelle stood up too, tears gathering. “Dante, stop!”
“No.” He faced her fully. “Did you plan all of this before returning to the villa? Before coming back into my life?”
She swallowed, eyes darting nervously between him and her father. “Dante, please, let me explain.”
“Answer me.”
There was silence.
She looked down.
And that was enough.
His heart dropped into something cold.
He looked back at the two fathers. “I’m not a child. I’m a grown man. I make my own choices. If I am going to get married, I decide the timing. I decide the plans. I decide who I marry.”
Laurent tried to smile. “We only want the best for you.”
“No,” Dante said sharply. “You want what’s best for your daughter. And you.” He pointed at Jean-Paul “you want what’s best for the company.”
Jean-Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone.”
“No!” Dante shouted. His voice echoed through the office. “I’m done watching my tone. I’m done being controlled. I’m done pretending everything is fine when it’s not.”
He looked at Isabelle. “Did you ever love me?”
Her lips trembled. “Of course I.”
“No, don't lie to me.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t plan my entire life behind my back. If you loved me, you wouldn’t manipulate everything around me. If you loved me, you wouldn’t try to erase someone else from my life.”
Sienna’s name sat on the edge of his tongue, painful and warm.
Isabelle stiffened. She looked terrified not of losing Dante, but of losing the marriage.
He turned to Jean-Paul. “Do you still want to control my life? Like you controlled my childhood? Like you controlled every race, every decision?”
Jean-Paul didn’t answer. His silence was an answer itself.
Dante took a breath that hurt his chest. “If you want someone to obey you, then you marry Isabelle.”
Laurent gasped loudly. Jean-Paul’s face turned stone-cold. Isabelle burst into tears instantly, big dramatic sobs that filled the room.
“Dante!” she cried. “How could you?”
He didn’t stay to watch her performance.
He turned and walked out.
His legs were shaking. His heart was pounding. His breathing was uneven.
He didn’t stop walking.
Not even when he heard Isabelle’s cry behind him. Not even when he heard Jean-Paul call his name in anger. Not even when Laurent cursed under his breath.
He walked straight out of the office, down the hall, and toward the elevators. His chest felt heavy, but his mind felt strangely clear, clearer than it had been in months.
He was done being controlled.He was done being used. He was done living someone else’s script.
He pressed the elevator button and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples.
His mind replayed everything at once:
Isabelle’s fake tears.Laurent’s proud smile.
Jean-Paul’s calm control. Sienna’s shaking voice at the racetrack. Her pain. Her truth.
Her eyes.
He swallowed hard.
What am I doing with my life?
The elevator pinged. The doors slid open.
Dante stepped inside and his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen, expecting a message from Luca or maybe another series of missed calls from Isabelle.
But instead, he saw a number he didn’t recognize. He saw a message that made his blood run cold.
“I know what really happened the night of your crash.”
Dante froze.
The message continued, the words burning into the screen. “And I know who was supposed to die.”
His heart slammed against his ribs.
A third line appeared. “Meet me if you want the truth.”
Dante swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Who is this? What do they know? What do they want?
Another message arrived.
“Tonight.”
And then, before he could react, the elevator doors began to close behind him.